Of Music and Magic
by Alexokerry
Summary: Strange things begin to happen after a failed mission. The Kittens rescue a young, blind man from a certain death in the soon to rubble of a target's building. Harper is a member of a four man team that seems to be working for the Weiss Boy's employer.
1. Chapter 1

**OF MUSIC AND MAGIC**

Part One

_Just once I wish Kritiker would get things right,_ Aya thought to himself. Anything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

First the information on the strength and number of bodyguards around their target provided them by Kritiker. Then the electronic surveillance equipment hadn't been in the control center with the monitors like they had been told, and they had had to hunt down the damn things. Finally they found the right place, got Omi and Ken settled in to take over the monitoring paraphernalia while Aya and Yohji had left to take out the target.

Somehow Siberian and Bombay had been discovered and now the youngest member of the Weiss team sported a bullet hole to his left shoulder that wouldn't stop bleeding. Ken had hustled the injured teenager out of the building, come back, set his charges and should be on his way out of the structure.

Now if he and Balinese could take out the target without any new difficulties rearing their ugly heads, then they would be fine. Always complete the mission. Some days it wasn't worth getting out of bed.

Aya peered around the corner and a flash of white caught his attention. White linen reflected the dim night lighting of the corridor. And a familiar body filled out the shoulders of the sport coat. Schwarz. Damn! It would have to be Crawford and his cronies. The precog stood staring at his hands and mumbling under his breath.

"Where are they?"

"Problems, Herr Leader?" Schuldig's nasally, sarcastic voice echoed softly down the hallway.

"Yes, Schuldig, there's a problem. Well, perhaps not a problem, but a difficulty. I can see a hundred different possibilities for tonight, but none of them stand out as a definite. And I'm going to need to shut my gift down; it's giving me a headache." He snarled at the speaker just above his head. "I wish they would turn that damned folk music off at night."

"Crawford," the red-haired German said, "we really need to get your hearing tested. There's no music. Or Muzak either."

"Hmph," the dark American snorted. "Can you find the _kittens_ anywhere?"

"Of course, I'd be able to find Kuduo by his smutty thoughts." Schuldig became quiet, his body tense as he looked for his prey. "Shyst!" he spat.

"What?"

"I can't …" a mind-numbing scream echoed down the almost empty corridor drowning out Schuldig's voice.

Farfarello staggered down one of the connecting side hallways, his fingers tightly clenching his head. "Hurts! God is angry! It huuuuuuuurts!" The crazy knife wielder sounded almost sane. As if the pain was rescrambling his twisted neurons to feel the pain that they had forgotten. Nagi followed in the man's footsteps, a look of consternation spread across his features.

"Let me guess," Crawford hissed, dryly, "Your powers aren't working any better than the rest of ours. And would someone please shut that damn music off!" With a quick motion, he emptied his .9mm into the overhead speaker.

Yohji quietly collapsed against the wall, his body shaking with silent laughter and Aya's lips twitched. The sound of retreating footsteps reached the two assassins' ears, telling them that their rivals were conceding the day.

_Find the target,_ Aya said, using the hand codes that Omi had designed.

_Gotcha_, Yohji motioned back, getting himself back under control and moving stealthily down the now empty passageway. A light, heady mix of cologne, musk and cigarettes wafted behind him, stirring the redhead's blood to near boiling. Sometimes it amazed him that they didn't rip each other's clothes off and do the nasty deed in front of the corpse.

_Mind out of the gutter, Abyssinian,_ he thought. _Pay attention to your surroundings. Schwarz may have left the playing field, but that doesn't mean the rest of the asshole's guards are going to be so nice._

The kill went off without a hitch. The mark did the usual and offered them money, drugs, booze, women: anything they could ever need or want in order to save his pathetic life. He died, just like the thousand ones before him did. Justice was served by a quick, virtually painless slash of his katana. He had never seen the sense in torturing a mad dog.

"Abyssinian. Balinese," Ken's voice crackled into his ear.

"Abyssinian, here. Go ahead."

"Where are you guys?"

"On our way out. Target terminated."

"Finally," Ken snapped. "You do remember that you've only got like about two and a half minutes before the building comes down around your ears, don't you?"

"Shit!" Aya swore, remembering that he had told Ken to set the timer on the explosives instead of using a detonator this time. "I do now." He grabbed Yohji's arm and started the mad dash for the door. "Bring the car around to the north entrance, but be careful. Schwarz is hanging around and we really don't have time to convince them that it's in all of our best interests to take the fight away from a high rise that's going to explode."

"Roger that, Abyssinian. See ya at the north entrance." The former soccer player broke contact.

Yohji led the way through the tangle of hallways, his long, lanky legs stretched to their utmost. The two of them reached the north narthex with thirty seconds to spare. Aya burst through the doors, slamming the outer one into the figure that had been on its way in. A guitar case and a long white, red-tipped cane flew out of the man's hands as he hit the pavement.

_Long white cane? Oh shit! He's blind!_ Ran through Aya's mind. _Blind and getting ready to enter a deathtrap._

"Balinese," he snapped, "grab the case and the cane! Then let's get the hell out of here!" Grabbing one thin wrist, he pulled the young man to his feet and dragged him to the waiting vehicle. "Get in!"

Wide, blank, sage-green eyes turned toward the sound of his voice. The man's hands shook with fear as he complied with the harshly spoken order. He climbed in the door that Aya held open for him and settled in next to the injured Omi.

"Please," he pleaded, "I don't have that much money. But you're more than welcome to it. Just don't kill me or … ah ….rape me."

"Rape you?" Yohji sputtered as the vehicle squealed away. Ken had the gas pedal pressed level with the floorboard. The mission van swerved in and out of the slowly thinning traffic. "Slow down, Siberian, he'll be all right." The tall man tried to sooth his teammate.

"I called Manx," Ken's voice cracked slightly under the stress. "She said she'd meet us at the hospital."

"Good, then we'll get things taken care of."

"Excuse, but I smell blood," the young stranger in the backseat said. "Why do I smell blood?"

"Just ignore it," Aya snapped.

"But…."

"I said ignore it!"

Sage green eyes turned toward him as he snarled and the streetlights gave Aya enough light to study their unwelcome guest with. Those green eyes looked at him from a face whiter than snow. One full, pale rose lip was being worried between white teeth and a single crystalline tear rolled down the high cheek-boned heart-shaped face. Silvery blonde hair was pulled back into a braid and the eyes showed smearing signs of eyeliner and mascara. He wasn't very big, perhaps an inch or two taller than Omi, but more fragile and delicate looking. In other words, he was the most delectable creature Aya had laid eyes on in a long while.

The young man began to hum, his strong tenor capturing everyone's attention. He turned toward the injured assassin and pulled a pair of red bandanas out of his pocket. Quickly, he felt under the youngest Weiss's shirt and placed them over blood-soaked bandages. Still humming he turned back to face the front of the van.

"What did you do?" Aya demanded, grabbing the man's wrist in a bone-crushing grasp.

"Nothing," he whimpered, trying to free his imprisoned wrist. "Just put some more bandaging on it. So he doesn't bleed out. There's a lot of blood on the gauze and it was running onto the seat. I could feel it." He winced as the bigger man tightened his hold again. "Please, you're hurting me!" The panic was very evident in his voice.

"For god's sake, Abyssinian," Yohji snapped, finally losing his temper with Aya's attitude. The ground under the swiftly moving vehicle shuddered with the explosion from the high-rise. "Finally! I think Siberian is losing his touch." Omi gave a little sigh and fell forward into the back of the driver's seat. "Omi!"

Aya grabbed the young man that sat between him and his fallen teammate, slamming him into the unyielding side of the van. He yelped and slipped into unconsciousness, sliding between the middle rows of seats.

"Fuck Aya!" Ken screamed back at him. "What the hell did you do?"

"He got between me and Omi," came the sullen reply. "Besides, we don't owe him anything. We're the ones that saved his life, remember."

"Dipshit," Yohji growled at him. "We're the ones that put his life in danger, remember? And you're the one that insisted on bringing him with us."

"Shut up, Yohji!" Aya snapped, cradling Omi's slight form in his arms. "How much longer, Ken?"

"About three minutes. Why?"

"He's doing better, but I don't like the fact that he just all of a sudden decided to pass out." Aya's hands stroked the soft, fair hair off the boy's face, crooning almost soundlessly as he gently rocked the limp body back and forth. "How the hell did this happen? Why weren't you watching his back?"

"Look, there's nothing that you can say to me that I haven't already said to myself. I don't know what went wrong, but it did and let's hold off throwing the blame around until he's getting the help he needs, okay?"

Yohji canted his head to one side. "Speaking of things going wrong, what the hell do you think happened with Schwarz?"

"I don't know…."

"Wonder what they wanted," Ken mused.

"Who knows? Crawford probably was bored and decided to try and tweak Aya's temper."

"What happened?"

"Something or someone interfered with their gifts. Crawford couldn't see any further into the future than you or I. Schu became deaf to others thoughts. Nagi lost his telekinesis and Farfi got a dose of the pain he so loves to inflict."

The turn for the Magicbus came up and Ken nearly missed it, only making by squealing the tires as he rounded the corner, almost putting the van onto two tires. The automobile came to a screeching halt in front of the emergency entrance and the trauma team, which had been waiting for them, grabbed the injured assassin and whisked him into one of the special rooms. Manx waited for them inside.

"Why don't you boys go on home?" she questioned, tossing her auburn hair over one shoulder. "We'll let you know when Bombay is able to leave."

"No," Aya said, his voice low and menacing. "We'll wait until the doctor comes out and talks to us."

"Whatever."

The three remaining members of Weiss took turns staring into the small window in the trauma room door, watching as the physicians worked on their wounded friend. Yohji rejoined the other two soon after he took his post.

"The doctor's coming," he said in response to Aya's unspoken question. The elderly, glasses wearing gentleman joined them in the little waiting room, a puzzled look on his face.

"Well," Ken asked, the tension causing his voice to crack.

"Your friend doesn't appear to be as injured as we were led to believe."

"What?" Ken yelped.

"Excuse me," Aya and Yohji asked at the same time

"We did find evidence of a gunshot wound," the doctor held up a slightly mashed bit of metal. "But the injury looks to be about a week old. The entry wound is nearly healed and the bullet was resting on the skin under the pad of bandanas that were covering it. There was some sign of bone chipping, but the body had reabsorbed the fragments. When did you say this happened?"

"Not more than an hour ago," Aya responded.

"I don't know what to tell you boys. But he's sleeping while we give him a couple of pints of blood. When that's finished, you're more than welcome to take him home."

"Thanks," Yohji said, sitting heavily down. After the doctor had left them he sighed and looked at the other two. "What the hell is going on here? Would someone be so kind as to tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Aya answered, sitting next to his friend and casual bed partner.

"Well," Ken slowly drawled, "we know that it isn't Schwarz being friendly. We might as well not question our good fortune."

"Hmph," Aya snorted.

They waited for almost three hours, before Omi was wheeled out of the room, cheeks rosy and a sleepy smile on his face.

"I'm ready to go home, Ken-kun," he chirped at the former soccer player. "Did we get everything taken care of?"

"Done and done," Yohji answered, smiling at the boy.

"Good. Now can we go?" He looked up at Ken through half-hooded eyes. "I'm really tired and ready for bed." His lips caressed the last word suggestively. Yohji burst out laughing at the poleaxed expression on Ken's face.

"Well, we know how you're going to spend the night, or should I say morning? And don't worry, Aya and I will be more than willing to cover Ken's shift at the shop." The crimson-haired swordsman glared at the lanky form standing near him.

"We will?"

"Sure. Somebody's got to stay with Omi and since Ken's the one balling him into exhaustion every night…."

Aya watched the sable-haired athlete flush and then give his taller teammate a shy smile. "Right. Let's go home."

Yohji climbed into the driver's seat, letting Ken hold the recovering bishounen on his lap. The golden-haired boy snuggled close and fell asleep on his lover, the effects of blood loss and the stress of the mission finally catching up with him. The chestnut-haired beauty watched, in the rearview mirror, as azure eyes drifted contently close.

The journey back to the Koneko was uneventful. The traffic started to thicken on the opposite side of the road as rush hour drew near. With practiced ease, he maneuvered the van into the underground garage beneath the shop and parked it near Seven and Aya's Porsche. As the engine died, Ken stood, cradling his lover in his arms and opened the sliding door of the vehicle.

"I'll see you guys later," he murmured quietly.

"Yeah," Yohji responded, a mischievous grin slowly lighting his face. "Just remember, he does need his sleep."

"YOHJI!" Ken sputtered, nearly waking the sleeping form in his arms.

"Yes?" he innocently asked. "Don't worry about the door, I'll get it for you,"

"Thanks."

He moved over to shut the open door and a flash of white caught his eye. A thick white braid peeked out from under the seat, along with one slender, nearly bloodless arm. "Oh shit!"

"Yohji?" Aya asked, drawing closer.

"We have a problem."

"And that would be?"

"Look." He pointed to the arm and hair. "I think we totally forgot about something, now didn't we?"

Aya shot him a look and if looks could peel skin, he would be standing there trying to hold in his internal organs. Then he glared at the unconscious figure in the van. With a sigh of disgust, he reached in and pulled the slight figure toward him.

"Where do you suggest we put him?" he asked a very short leash on his temper.

"Why don't we put him in your room for tonight, it's not like you're going to need, now is it?"

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"

" 'Cause there's no way in hell that I'm going to sleep on plain ol' cotton sheets when I've got silk ones on my bed." He gave his lover a smoldering look. "Besides, you like the way the silk slides against you, remember?"

"Oh yeah." He cradled the unconscious form against his chest, close enough that he could feel the iciness of the other man's skin and the slight tremors that rippled through his body. "Yohji, I think he's in shock."

"You think?" the chestnut-haired man sarcastically said. "Why ever would he be like that, hm? Maybe because we snatched him off the street threw him into the back of the van with a bleeding assassin and then bounced him off the walls of said van? He's really got no reason to be shocky now does he? Add the fact that he's got a gash the size of Tokyo between his eyes probably added to the problem."

"Thanks for the running commentary, Kuduo." Aya shifted his burden to a more comfortable position. The white-haired man smelled like musk, moss and something with an earthy, woody undertone to it. The scent nearly drove the assassin crazy with lust. He and Yohji really needed to deal with their little problem then retreat to the taller man's room for some serious fooling around. "We'll put him in my room."

"Thought you might see things my way," Yohji said, laughter lacing his words. The taller man preceded him into the apartments attached to the Koneko; a view that Aya wouldn't want to miss. Yohji's mission trench had been removed somewhere between the hospital and home, leaving his body nearly bare to the redhead's perusal. He looked good enough to eat and Aya wasn't the kind of person to let such a meal go to waste.

Chestnut-brown hair brushed his shoulders, where it wasn't drawn back into a tail, and framed a face that showed the best of both his European and Asian ancestors. Wide, green eyes rested in an expanse of lightly tanned skin, above a wide, lush-lipped, kissable mouth and a pert nose. High cheekbones and a squarish chin finished the landscape.

The black tee shirt he wore ended just below his ribcage, baring a wide area of honey-colored skin and hard muscle. The sweet dimple of his bellybutton rested just above the waistline of his low riders. The skin-tight black, leather jeans left nothing to the imagination. Aya could see the muscles of Yohji's thighs and ass ripple as he walked. He couldn't wait to lay his burden down and pounce on his addiction, not that he'd let Kuduo know how he really felt. Emotions were a dangerous weakness that a hired killer couldn't afford.

_I am a murderer,_ he thought, bringing his mind firmly under control. _I don't deserve love._ Passion counted as one thing: love on the other hand had no place in his life. How Yohji managed to deceive himself for so long on what he was merited from this life he would never know.

They finally reached Aya's lonely bedroom. The torture on the stairs didn't leave the redheaded assassin feeling very generous toward his unwanted guest. Right now, he held his actions under a tight rein to avoid throwing the taller man down on the bed and having his way with him. Hunger and lust heated his blood and the swelling in his groin worked to distract him from the task at hand.

Yohji pulled the bedding back making it a little easier for his partner to position the injured man on the mattress. After Aya settled him, the tall man began undressing the white-haired man.

"Why don't you get one of the first aid kits?" he asked the smaller man. "That way we can get this done and move on to bigger and better things." He gave Aya a wicked look through his lashes and licked his lips.

Aya stumbled out of the room and into the bathroom on their floor. He grabbed the kit and hurried back into his bedroom. He shoved the box into Yohji's waiting hands and then stood back to watch the show. The chestnut-haired beauty carefully cleaned the wound with antiseptic then applied two butterfly bandages and a couple of thick gauze pads to keep the blood from oozing everywhere. Then he finished getting the other man's clothing off.

The sight of those smoldering green eyes, barely veiled by thick eyelashes nearly brought him to his knees. And watching the bronze-haired beauty undressing another man could be considered cruel and unusual punishment in nearly every civilized country. To view his tan hands drifting over the pale flesh of the strange young man, to see the differences in the skin tones left Aya caught between drooling and cotton mouthed.

"Yohji, aren't you done yet?" he snarled, twisting his body to hide his raging hard on.

"Patience," came the sultry reply. "Remember the old cliché, good things come to those who wait."

"I'm done waiting, Baka!" He grabbed for the almost delicate wrist of the tall assassin.

Yohji sidestepped the awkward attempt to seize him. It always stuck him as funny when the shorter man lost what little tolerance he had for waiting. And as Aya skidded across the area rug of his room, he considered his 'patient'.

"Do you think he'll be warm enough?" he asked, looking down into narrow, lavender eyes.

"He'll be fine. We'll just cover him up and let his sleep."

Jade eyes thinned in thought. "Maybe I should stay here with him? I mean we wouldn't want him to die on us, now do we?"

"Kuduo, you even think about staying in here and I'll be screwing your brains out on the bed with the stiff, understand?" Yohji threw his head back and laughed, the rich, steamy sound shivered up Aya's backbone to rest in his brain. With a low growl, he threw the taller man against the wall and brutalized his mouth, thrusting his tongue deep into the well of sweetness. His tongue tangled with the blonde's, both of them making deep nearly soundless moans of pleasure.

"Let me cover him up and we can go," came the breathless response to his unspoken question. "Don't want to lose him to the chill, now do we?"

"I don't care! I just wanna get him tucked in so we can fuck!"

Yohji quivered in anticipation. Aya's words left him hot and gasping, his groin bulging painfully against the skin-tight leather that incased it. He liked it when his lover talked dirty to him. And the heavy breathing coming from Aya told him what tonight's rendezvous would be like. The redhead's marking of him would last a good ten days or two weeks. He clutched his knees together to keep from crumpling to the ground. This would be the best session they had had in weeks. All thanks to a little blind angel who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Thank god for heavenly intervention.

As soon as the covers were securely placed around the unconscious figure, Aya yanked Yohji's wrist hard enough to rock his head half off his shoulders and dragged him into his room. Streetlights threw the room into a mix of shadow and light. The full moon helped to illuminate the scene. Not that he got to see much of it, as soon as they entered the shadowy light Aya fell on him; devouring his mouth with brutal lips. The redhead's teeth tore at his lips, breaking the skin, mingling the salty-sweet flavor of his blood in their kisses. The taste of it seemed to drive the shorter man insane with passion.

Aya pushed Yohji back until his legs ran into the edge of the bed and with a gentle push he sent the tall blonde sprawling onto the forest green silk of his comforter. The abrupt movement broke the all-devouring kiss and left one man standing and the other lounging on the soft surface of the bed.

"Pull back the comforter," Aya growled low in his throat.

"'Kay," Yohji responded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. When Aya acted like this, the taller man usually ended up with bruises and bite marks that hurt for days afterwards, but hell it was more than worth it. He carefully began to stand.

"No," came the quiet command. "Do it lying down."

"Y-yes, sir," he breathed, nearly fainting from the tension that hung in the air. He lifted the soft, salaciously decadent cover and slid it under his hips, lifting them in a parody of the act that would follow.

Lavender ice eyes tracked his every move, hands tightened and loosened into fists. With a swift motion, he drew a switchblade from its hiding place on his body. He pounced on the reclining form lying on the soft, cream colored, silk sheets.

"Don't move," he ordered in his deep, quiet voice. With quick, confident motions he cut the skin-tight muscle tee off the tall, lanky form of his lover, leaving his upper body exposed to the chilled night air. He grasped Yohji's wrists, locking them into the manacles fastened to the headboard and with a wicked smile, he grabbed the ones meant for his lover's feet from their positions on the footboard and reattached them to the heavy post of the headboard.

"A-Aya?" he choked out. "W-w-what are you…?"

"You've been a bad boy, Yohji," he whispered against the blonde's ear, "and you need to be punished. Now are you going to let me take off those pants or do they join what's left of your shirt?"

Leaf-green eyes grew bigger at the thought of replacing the skin-tight, low-riding, black leather pants that he favored for missions. Part of him really didn't think that Aya had the balls to cut the expensive, glove-soft leather. But the look in the redhead's eyes told him the truth; if he didn't allow the removal of the painted-on jeans he would have no problem using his switchblade on them too. He lifted his hips to facilitate the removal of the offending garment.

"Much better," Aya whispered, the soft words caressing Yohji's mind.

"Aya, please," he begged.

"Patience, kitten." Aya's deep, dark, whiskey voice sent shivers through his captive. His amethyst eyes glowed with lust and a deeper emotion, not that he would let the lanky blonde know what went on behind his icy mask. "You'll get your punishment soon enough."

With that soft pronunciation he grabbed one long bare leg, pulled it to the waiting manacle beside Yohji's head and locked it in place. The other ankle received the same treatment, leaving the taller assassin open to his inspection. He ran one finger up one of the "goes-on-forever" legs. The feather-soft touch sent another wave of tremors through his prisoner. He looked up at the taller man, through crimson bangs, his eyes sparkling with a lusty mischief and reached for the drawer that held their various implements.

"What do you think you deserve?" he asked, a wicked grin lighting his face.

"Ah, nothing," Yohji croaked, his throat gone dry. Gods, he loved it when Aya's walls began to come down. Maybe jealousy could be a good thing.

"Nothing?" came the purred question. "You take a stranger's side over mine and it's nothing? Tsk, tsk Yohji, you've been a wicked boy and you aren't man enough to take the consequences?" He withdrew a large feather from the drawer.

His wicked smile grew larger, nearly splitting his face in two. With that feral grin he brushed the plume against the sensitive skin on the backs of Yohji's thighs, moving it toward his calves and feet. Soft strokes stimulated the nerve endings in the imprisoned blonde's legs and when his partner began the slow climb back to his waist, he moaned and pushed his groin toward the sweet torture.

"Ay-y-y-ya!" he begged, needing release from the exquisite agony.

"We're not done," Aya whispered, his rich voice breathless. "When you are screaming for relief, then we will be done. But until that point, you will be quiet and remember who's in charge of this little game." His hand dipped into the drawer again, extracted a ball-gag and shoved it into his lover's mouth, fastening behind his head. The motion had been so quick that Yohji didn't have time to react and by the point he could respond the deed was done. "That's better." Was all he said as he went back to his work.

Yohji moaned behind the gag, tears of pain beginning to leak down his cheeks. Gods, the agony was exquisite as the soft feather brushed against his most intimate of places. The sweet pucker of his ass and the throbbing length of his cock received their fair share of attention from the lavender-eyed assassin.

Aya growled deep in his throat and tossed the feather away, let it drift slowly and forgotten to the floor. He stood and pulled his clothes off, yanking the tight shirt over his head and jerking his black jeans to his ankles. Thank god for the Japanese custom of removing shoes when you entered a home. At least he didn't have to waste valuable time removing his mission boots. He stood in the light that drifted in from the streetlights and the full moon like Eros, the god of lust and pleasure. His rod rose from its bed of scarlet curls and wept oily drops of pre-cum. With sure, experienced hands Aya smeared lubricant on the length of his cock.

The lanky blonde on the bed groaned, shuddered and twisted with anticipation, the thoughts of what that marble white body would do to his nearly brought him to the edge. With the striking speed of a feral cat, Aya pounced on his partner, devouring every inch of skin his lips could reach. And with no warning, preparation or any of the subtle niceties that usually marked their time together, he thrust himself to the hilt in the offered, tight orifice, making them both cry out.

The utter wildness of their coupling made Yohji forget about the pain of being ridden almost dry and all too soon he cried out behind the gag and shot his load onto his belly and chest. With the tightening of the taller man's muscles around his cock, Aya followed swiftly behind, collapsing onto his partner's chest. As soon as he could take a full, steady breath he moved off the lithe body that cradled his and began removing the various restraints and other implements.

"God, Aya," Yohji moaned after the gag was removed from his mouth. "What the hell got into you?"

"Just didn't like the way that … never mind."

One golden brow arched upward. "You were jealous, weren't you?"

"I … I … NO!" he sputtered, getting out of bed and reaching for his clothing.

"Aya," Yohji breathed, "please stay. I like it that you're jealous, it means that there's more going on here than just sex."

He turned and faced the man lounging on the silk covered bed. "We're assassins, murderers, hired killers, we don't deserve love. Hell, all four of us are dead and gods know that dead men don't fall in love."

"That maybe true, Aya. But while we are 'dead men' as you say, we're still living. And the ones that we murder are the ones that the police and others can't touch. I prefer to think of us as gardeners; we get rid of the weeds that would suffocate all the flowers to death. Now, are you coming back to bed or do I have to convince you that it's in your best interest to join me here?" His long, lean fingers began to roam over his body, stroking nipples then moving down to caress and fondle his cock and balls. The bed bounced as the redhead rejoined his lover in their silk encased bower.

On the street below the Koneko a man in black straddled a black and chrome Harley-Davison, looking up at the nearly dark building. A lighter flared up as he lit the cigarette dangling between his lips. The brief flash illuminated pale skin, silver eyes and white-streaked jet hair for a fleeting moment, then he settled back to continue his watch of the building.


	2. Chapter 2

I do NOT own the Weiss Kittens or any members of Schwarz...I just take them out of the box and play with them a bit.

PLEASE read and review. It gets my creative juices flowing!

PART TWO

Aerune slowly swam through the hazy fog of sleep toward consciousness. A ceaseless pounding wove its way into his dreams, a throbbing that kept tempo with his pulse. And as he drifted closer to awareness, the pain became so excruciating that by the time he was fully alert it felt like someone was trying to scalp him with a dull axe.

_Goddess,_ he thought, _what the hell happened? Did Jet take me out drinking again?_ He carefully began to reconstruct the events of the night before. Quick flashes of listening to Jet and Amber helping him get ready, the two of them arguing about what color eyeliner to use and which pair of pants would look the best on him. Fortunately Jet, who had just turned sixteen, wore the same size as he did. But the younger man tended to look, to put it nice, rather slutty. Or at least Amber always stated that he appeared to be an underage prostitute waiting for a date. It never failed that the youngest member of the quartet would ask if that was an invitation and they would start wrestling on the ground like a pair of puppies.

The bed he lay on smelled of cinnamon, cloves, sandalwood, male musk and roses. None of the three men that he knew in Japan smelled like that. His memories of the night before snapped into focus. He smiled against the pillow.

Three things had become clear last night. One: the spell Sterling set worked against Schwarz and someone without a mage gift could trigger it. Two: the Weiss kittens were exactly what Kritiker said they were nothing more, nothing less. Three: the pounding, peel-the-skin-off-your-forehead headache he was suffering from came from a combination of factors. First, his head coming in contact with the solid plastic and metal interior of the vehicle. Two, the _minor_ fact that he overdid it last night and now was suffering from overextension shock. Not the brightest thing he had ever done, but at least both conditions were easily remedied. With a sigh he cuddled down into the crisp sheets and promptly fell back to sleep.

The soft creak of hinges brought him instantly awake. His hand crept under the pillow, looking for the revolver that should be there. Then memory returned and Aerune realized how vulnerable he was, lying on his stomach with his face turned away from the slowly opening door and his braid hanging off the bed.

"Om-mi!" Siberian hissed, trying to keep his voice down.

"I just want to see, Ken-kun," the youngest member of Weiss said. "It isn't everyday that Aya brings someone home and I need to be able to give an accurate account to Kritiker about what happened last night and how he ended up here."

"Aya isn't going to like this."

"He's not paid to li—" The muffled sound of a Midi version of 'Fur Elise' rang through the silence of the room from a cell phone. A startled gasp came from the figure on the bed, his stillness broken as he came instantly awake and his head cocked, trying to locate the source. With fluid, graceful movements, he slid off the bed crawling toward the repeating noise. Finding his clothes, he dug through the pile and tracked down the small device in one front pocket of his borrowed leather jeans.

"Hello," he said in lightly accented Japanese. Omi could hear the growling of the voice on the other end of the line. "Ah, Sterling." There was a pregnant pause. "In bed." Another pause. "It's not what you're thinking!" A long growl. "No, I went for a job interview and there were a few minor complications." More growling and a snarl. "Um…I don't know." A quiet snarl. "Well, you see, I was entering the building and the door flew open, smashing me in the face." A quietly rumbled question. "Yeah and I was kidnapped by a pair of cats." Another quiet question. "It's a long story. But the abduction probably was the best thing that could have happened. If they hadn't taken me with them, I would have entered the building just as the earthquake hit and could have been killed." A triumphant yelp. "What?" A smug statement. "And just how do you propose to do that?" the white-haired man asked, his voice growing cold as the phone went dead. "Cold bastard." The phone snapped shut with a beep.

Omi giggled at how much the man sitting the floor next to Aya's bed sounded like Yohji after he and the crimson-tressed man had a fight. Blank sage-green eyes turned toward the sound.

"Who's there?"

"Sorry," Omi said, contritely from his post in the doorway. "I just wanted to see the man that Aya kidnapped last night."

Aerune tilted his head to one side. "Aya? Do you mean Abyssinian?"

The youngest member of the assassination team considered his words carefully. "Who? I've never heard that name before."

"Sorry," he apologized, "the ones that grabbed me last night must have belonged to Cat Fanciers of the world, 'cause they were all named after cat breeds."

"Really? Maybe you just heard them wrong?"

"That's a possi—"

"Omi," Ken's voice broke in. "You've seen what you came for. We have to get downstairs …. NOW!"

"Siberian," Aerune said, smiling.

"Wha…how…?"

A burble of silvery laughter. "Most people never forget a face. I, on the other hand, never forget a voice. I have an excellent memory for the different timbres and pitches in a person's voice." He leaned toward the stunned teenager. "It comes from being not only a musician, but also blind."

"Oh," came the faint reply.

"So, you're the mysterious Omi."

"How did you….?"

"I remember Abyssinian bellowing that name as you fell into something." The blind eyes sparkled with mischief. "Now, I have a big favor to ask of you."

"And that would be?" Ken's voice broke into the conversation.

"Where is the bathroom and could I use the shower?" Aerune smiled at both the assassins in the room. "I think that Sterling will be here soon and I know that the crap Jet put on my face last night has migrated down my cheeks. I probably look like a zombie with the black rings under my eyes. It is black isn't it? Jet never told me what color he was going to use, just that he would make me 'irresistible' to members of either sex."

The chagrin in his voice got Omi giggling again. He smiled in response to the cheerful noise. The younger man reminded him of the youngest member of his group, the irrepressible Jet.

"I think we can safely provide you with a shower. And I might be able to find you something to wear other than what you've got," Omi chirped, bouncing to his feet and scurrying out of the room. Ken sighed and came over to the to where the musician reclined on the floor. He reached one hand out and, gently touching him, offered it to the sightless young man ensconced in the covers.

"Come on," he said, helping the naked man to his feet.

The white-haired man untangled himself from the cotton sheets and got to his feet, swaying as the blood flowed away from his head toward his feet. Translucent, milky skin, paler than Aya's flushed as the cool air brushed it and the snow-white braid caressed his backside in a familiar gesture. Ken sucked in a deep breath at the beauty standing before him and shifted as the typical response flowed through his groin. Yes, he was sleeping and in love with Omi, but exquisiteness never failed to arouse him.

"Are you all right?" Aerune asked, gently grasping the chocolate-haired man beside him.

"Fine," came the strangled reply. "Let's get you into the shower, shall we?"

"Of course." Laughter lurked in the musician's words. He let the other man lead him, knowing that it would be much easier to allow himself to be led instead of stumbling and tripping over hidden obstacles and ending up with more injuries.

Ken led the blind man to the bathroom on the floor that Aya and Yohji shared. The stark black and white motif in the room screamed Aya at the top of its lungs. Somehow the stoic swordsman talked the chestnut-haired playboy into decorating the entire room in the theme of a chessboard. Touches of scarlet broke up the monochromic blandness of the chamber. Somehow the two assassins had blended their personal tastes into a thing of austere beauty. And the lovely on his arm nearly blended into the simplicity, only his sage-green eyes separating him from the snowy whiteness.

The mingled scents of soap, shampoo and other male bathing condiments assaulted Aerune's nose. The small room smelled like an expensive day spa and he almost expected a deep, heavily accented voice to tell him to remove his clothing for the required total body massage. Under his bare feet, the ceramic tiling felt cool and slick. Hopefully there would be … yep, there was. Warm, fuzzy material stroked the bottoms of his feet as he stepped onto a well tacked down area rug.

"Thank you," he softly said to the young man leading him into the room. "I think I can find my way around from here."

"Ah, if you're sure," came the uncertain answer.

"Please, I've been enough of a bother. Besides, I wouldn't want either of you to get into trouble with your employer."

" 'Kay. We'll just be down the stairs and you probably remember how to get back to the room where you were staying, right?"

"Here we go!" Omi bubbled as he walked into the room. "Oh, my!" He stopped in the doorway at the sight of his lover and the man who had taken over Aya's bed for the night. "I found you some of my sweats. They're not much, but at least they're clean and not covered in blood like your clothes from last night."

Sightless eyes turned toward him. "Thank you," Aerune said with a big smile. "Now, I think I can handle taking a shower and getting myself all clean. I'd better hurry 'cause Sterling will be here soon and he's not a happy camper as it is."

"All right," Omi said, leading Ken out of the room. "If you need anything, just holler down the stairs. C'mon Ken."

Aerune waited until he could no longer hear the footsteps on the stairs, then felt his way over to the shower. He pulled the curtain back, got the water to the right temperature and stepped into the welcome warmth. The heat and moisture helped to chase away the residual affects of the wound on his forehead and the over-extension shock. He soaped up his hair with some rich, exotic, probably very expensive shampoo and conditioner, and then began slowly washing his body.

_:Sterling,:_ he reached out with his mind.

_:Hm?:_ came the expected reply. _:Everything okay on that end?:_

_:Everything's fine. Just don't be in too big of a hurry to come and rescue me. I'm in the shower and want to enjoy every minute of it.:_ He thought through all that he had learned in the last twenty-four hours. _:It's a go. I'll tell you more about it when you pick me up.:_ He let the connection between the two of them fade and turned his attention to truly enjoying his shower. It wasn't often that he got to take his time in the shower, usually either Jet or Amber wanted in and he had to share the hot water. The only time they didn't have to worry about whether or not there would be enough heated water was the few times that their jobs required them to live in a hotel or motel. But those were very few and extremely far apart.

:'Kay. See you in about thirty.:

:I'll be here. Where are you now?:

:About three blocks from the flower shop. Jet and Amber are both within the same radius and we'll meet before I descend on the Weiss boys.:

:See you then.:

Three quarters of an hour after Omi and Ken joined their two teammates in the shop, the door came open with an enthusiastic jangle of the bell. Two young men entered the shop; they could be twins, except for a few minor differences. Both had waist-length hair, pulled back into thick, neat braids but one was the blue-black of a raven's wing and the other the dark amber of alfalfa honey. One pair of eyes glittered like jet beads and the other regarded the world through whiskey-colored orbs. But both possessed the same heart-shaped faces; fair skin, lithe lean bodies and the awkward grace of adolescent cats.

The dark-haired one's eyes skimmed the store, obviously looking for something or someone. Seeing the four florist/assassins standing around the counter, he smiled and walked toward them.

"Excuse me," he said in lightly accented Japanese. "But is Aerune here?"

"Who the hell is Aerune?" Aya asked.

"He's about our height," the amber-haired youth chimed in, "and build. Pure white hair and silvery-green eyes."

"And he would have a guitar case with him," chirped dark hair.

"He might be," Aya snarled, distrust heavy in his voice.

"Look," amber hair said, "we're friends of his and we want to get him out of here before trouble shows up and things go to hell in a hand basket. Now where is he?"

"I'll see if he's accepting visitors," Aya growled, stalking toward the stairs heading up to the living quarters.

"Aaaeeruuune!" Jet yelled running for the stairs. "C'mon Aerune, we got to get out of here before Sterling …." The low, window-rattling sound of a straight piped Harley overrode the dark haired youth's words. "Ah shit! Too f-ing late, it's the lawnmower on steroids." Both men dove for the dubious cover of the flower-laden shelves.

The quartet of assassins stood, paralyzed by the strange behavior of their guests. The door to the Koneko swung open and a tall, leanly muscled, dark haired, black leather clad man stalked into the crowded shop, a scowl etching deep lines on his face. Eyes the color of tarnished silver swept over the room, missing nothing, not even the cowering forms of the first two men.

"Where is he?" he snarled, looking at Aya.

"Who?" the crimson haired man asked blandly.

"Aerune." He held up a hand to forestall any attempts to deny that the musician was there. "Before anyone says anything, I talked to the brat this morning on his cell phone. And since I placed a microchip with GPS capabilities in it, I know that he's here, somewhere. So why don't you all be good little boys and fetch him for me, all right?"

"So that's how you did it, you fucking son of a bitch," a soft tenor responded in the brief silence that followed the leather-clad man's declaration. Aerune stepped gracefully off the stairs, guitar case and dirty clothes in one hand and the other trailing against the wall with his folded cane dangling from its strap. The light touch led him into the room and the scent of flowers reached his nose. "I'm here now, Sterling. Can we go or do you want to embarrass me some more?"

"I … we … they," the dark haired man sputtered.

"We'll discuss your lack of manners when we get home." Turning toward the four young men, who acted as his hosts for the night, he smiled. "Thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps in the future, I can reciprocate the kindness." He moved carefully toward the sound of the barely ringing bell. "Jet, Amber, let's go home."

The unusual foursome left, one at a time, the younger two avoiding the irascible dark man. Once he reached the outside, Aerune opened his cane and began to tap it against the pavement. He stopped just out of sight of the store, realizing for the first time that he had no idea of which way to go. He waited patiently for his friends to join him. He didn't have long to wait; the uneasy trio met him in a matter of moments.

"All right, Harper, report," Sterling growled.

"Here's the bare bones; one, tell Kritiker that it's a go. Two, they're everything that we were lead to believe, nothing more and more importantly, nothing less. Three, the spell that you gave me works like it should and even someone like me can use it. I think the last stage of testing should be with someone totally UnTalented, but that can wait until we've started working with the Weiss boys and can use one of them."

Sterling led him gently over to the bike, handing Amber the guitar case. "Good. I'll let Manx know right away and we can start teaching the kittens to defend themselves from people like Crawford and his cronies." He looked over at the 'twins', "see you two at the safe house. Be careful and try not to draw too much attention to yourselves, understand?"

"You got it, Sterling," Jet said, his voice filled with excitement. The quartet broke up, Aerune on the back of Sterling's bike, his body pressed tightly against the mage's back. Jet and Amber clambered into the cherry-red convertible that their leader had rented for this mission.

In their excitement, none of them noticed the white linen-clad, orange haired man hiding behind one of the trees across the street from the Koneko. The aura of nothingness that surrounded the four young men drew his attention. With a careful probe, he tried to see who they were and what they were up to: it failed. The feeler slipped off well-placed shields, leaving Mastermind contemplating what it all meant. This was something that he could bring to Crawford. He walked away from the flower shop, kitten torturing forgotten for that day.


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

Aya glanced at the address Manx had given them. Along with the house number there were instructions and an appointment time for them to keep. Well, here they stood on the steps of a large home set on a several acres in one of the wealthier neighborhoods outside of Tokyo, on time for the meeting and it looked like the house was deserted. The sound of heavy bass drew his attention to the backyard. With a quick nod to his team members, he followed the cement path to the back of the house, passing through a high, wooden gate. A small tingle shot throughout his body as he passed into the backyard.

Amidst the neatly kept garden, on the very edge of the property, stood a small building. It rose one story tall with a row of dormers set with windows that stretched the length of the roof. The pale yellow pine siding glistened like gold in the late afternoon sunlight. The rawness of the wood and the torn up ground around the foundation proclaimed loudly that this was a new construction. J-rock blared from the structure along with the repeated clanging of metal on metal and the sound of harsh panting.

Omi tried the windowless door set halfway in the middle of the front. It was locked. Yohji held up his set of lock-picks, stepped up to the door and worked on the lock for a moment. The tumblers sprang open with a quiet click. He flashed his teammates a smug grin.

Five and a half foot long blades caught the light and drew the eye. The nearly identical young men who wielded the double-edged swords with apparent ease, familiarity and grace, were the ones who had come to collect Aerune on that morning less than a week ago. Both sported various cuts, scrapes and bruises and as the dark-haired one swept out with his pommel-gripping fist, Aya understood how they managed to look the way they did. Neither one was holding back, fist struck flesh with a solid, resounding thwack and the slightly taller boy staggered back from the impact.

"Shit Jet!" he cried. "There's no reason to be so mean about this."

"Mean? Who's being mean?" Jet shot back, bringing his fist around for another punch.

"You. I can't understand why Sterling won't let me continue practicing with him. I understood his way of fightin'," the older boy whined. "Your sorry excuse for sportsmanship leaves me cold."

"We both know why you're stuck fighting me. You know Sterling's way of fighting too well and were getting too complacent and lazy when you faced off against him." One bare foot lashed out and connected with the side of Amber's knee, forcing the other man down onto his backside. "With me you never know what's going to happen and I can keep you on your toes, as the old cliché goes."

"The gods must hate me."

"Nope, they love you enough to give me to you." He cocked his head to one side. "You ever get the feeling that we're forgetting something important?"

"Like what?"

"Well, we got the lawn mowed, the garden weeded and we're doing our Swordwork, but I still feel like there's something . . . . . ah SHIT!"

"What?"

"Weiss!"

"Ah shit is right!" Both of the combatants stopped and moved over to where the scabbards for their blades lay. Catching them up, the swords slid into their sheathes with steely slithers and the weapons were carefully placed back in the spots were they had been taken from.

"Maybe we can get to the . . ." Amber started to say as he turned around. The look of shock on his face at seeing the four assassins almost made up for the rudeness of being made to wait. "Then again, maybe not. Welcome to our humble home," he said, bowing slightly to his guests. "Sorry about making you wait, we kinda forgot that you were coming here tonight."

"Yeah, most of the time we're not such airheads, but things happen."

"Do you mind telling us what the hell is going on?" Aya asked his brows pulled toward the bridge of his nose.

"I'd love too, but it's not my place. Sterling will bring you all up to speed when he gets home."

"And that will be when?"

"Um, it all depends on traffic. He insists on taking Aerune to work and picking him up. For some reason he doesn't trust anybody with blind boy."

"I can understand his feelings," Aya approved.

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"Aerune is quite capable of taking care of himself," Jet piped in. "If he weren't, he'd still be home with his parents. They still think of and treat him like a child, but he's all grow'd up. Anybody that messes with him is goin' find himself on the ground hurting like a sonofabitch. 'Rune wouldn't risk the group by being defenseless."

"Sorry," Yohji said, holding his hands up to stem the tirade. "Aya is a little dense sometimes."

"Am not. What about the night we found him, getting ready to wander into a building filled with men who would have had no problem with raping and killing him?"

"It was a set up," came the dark voice from behind them. Sterling walked down the brick path that led to the building that they were currently standing in, Aerune's hand rested on his elbow and the blind man kept pace with his taller companion.

"A what?" Ken yelped.

"A set up," Sterling calmly said. "We had a job offer from Kritiker and we weren't going to bother with a group that didn't or doesn't have time for the innocent ones that get in the middle of their battles. So, I had 'Rune play poor lost puppy for you."

"Why?" Omi asked.

A sly smile crossed the silver-eyed man's lips. "Kritiker isn't the first group that's approached us to work for them. Of course, we were forced to turn Esset down, but it was rather amusing to see how far they would go to 'recruit' us."

"You could be very wealth men right now," Aya stated softly. "Why didn't you take them up on it?"

"I have always been told that with great power comes even greater responsibility. Esset doesn't teach their people that. They are brought up to believe that anyone without gifts or powers is little better than an animal and their only purpose on this earth is to provide amusement for the higher class. I never have nor will I ever think that." He stared intently at the assassins. "My responsibility is to protect those who can't defend themselves."

Aerune threaded his way through the group, not touching or brushing against any of them. Sterling's eyes went blank as he followed the slim form. The sightless gaze gave Yohji the willies, with its intensity and passion. The slight young man walked over to the boom box and shut the pulsing music off.

"You're like us," Omi softly said. "In a way at least."

"Exactly," Aerune stated, as he wandered back toward the group. His blind eyes turned toward Jet and Amber. "Why don't you take Omi and Ken into the house and start putting supper together while Sterling and I talk to Yohji and Aya?"

"Okie-dokie," Jet piped. "C'mon let's see about getting food on the table so that we all don't starve. You'd think that those two were never young; they've forgotten what it's like to need to eat more than once a day!" He grabbed Omi's hand and bounded off toward the house. Amber motioned for Ken to follow the youngest two; the athlete threw his older two teammates a nervous glance and then trailed on behind his lover and the black-haired boy. A never-ending stream of inconsequent chatter drifted back toward the group left in the dojo.

"Trying to separate us?" Aya asked, his hand drifting toward the knife concealed on his person.

"In a way, yes," Sterling responded. "There are things that you need to learn and the only way that can happen is if we take things slowly. I will teach you to protect yourselves from Mastermind's prying thoughts and will give you the capably to block Oracle's sight." He stared at the leader of Weiss, "are you willing to take a chance on what we can teach the four of you, or are you going to go and reject the gift that is offered you? Either way, Kritiker pays us. Manx told me to inform you that this is a paid mission, so you won't be losing out on any money."

"Aya," Yohji murmured, "that would explain the weirdness of the mission assignment she gave us."

"Hmph," Aya grunted, wordlessly ceding the point to the shaggy-headed blond. "All right, what do we need to know and how long will it take?"

"We can give you the training that you need and it will take as long as it takes. There is no set time; it all depends on how fast the four of you catch on and how good Schwarz truly is."

"And this will protect us from them?"

"For the most part."

_"For the most part?" _Aya groused, his lavender eyes snapping. "What the hell does that mean? Will it protect us or not?"

Aerune laid a gentle hand on the redhead's arm. "No spell is unbreakable. If it can be made, it can be unmade. But the good news is that the person to do the unmaking will have to be as powerful as Sterling, if not more so."

"Really?" Aya asked, his curiosity roused by the offer of new learning.

"Really. Magic follows a set of flexible, but unbreakable rules." He motioned for the group to be seated on the benches surrounding the perimeter of the practice area. "Let's get comfortable and then we can explain everything to you."

# # # # # #

Jet led the group of younger members into the expansive room the mansion called a kitchen. A five-star chef wouldn't find himself out of place in the echoing room. Two convection ovens glistened from their places in the wall and the dark, cast-iron of the stove and matching indoor grill detracted from the matte-finished side-by-side refrigerator. The place looked like it belonged at the Tokyo Hilton.

"What the hell?" Ken sputtered, looking about the room in amazement.

"Sterling takes his cooking very seriously," Amber answered.

"Sterling takes everything seriously," Jet grumbled. He walked over to the dull surfaced refrigerator, opened the door and began removing the ingredients for the meal. Raw meat made into three-quarter pound burgers, potatoes sliced into thick wedges, the fixings for a large green salad and a homemade cheesecake with the choice of four different toppings.

Omi's jaw dropped in astonishment at the food. This definitely wouldn't be the normal light meal that either he or Aya usually cobbled together for the group. He and the leader of Weiss took turns cooking for the others. Yohji didn't know how to cook and had no inclination to learn and Ken was too dangerous to leave alone anywhere near the stove; the athlete could burn water. So it wasn't safe to have him even try to make ramen. "You're going to make all that?"

"Of course," Jet said, grinning back at his counterpart. "I hope that you guys all like American food."

"As long as it doesn't come from below the yellow arches, I think we'll be able to take it," Omi teased back. "I have one question, though."

"And that would be?"

"Why in the world are the two of you cooking?"

"Punishment," Amber responded, sounding chagrined.

"What did you do to deserve that?"

"Sterling caught us playing a practical joke on 'Rune and this is our sentence, six weeks of KP."

"Isn't that a little dangerous?" Omi asked, not all that sure about the meal.

"Nope," Jet shot back. "One of the first things that Sterling taught us was how to cook."

"How long have you been with Sterling and Aerune?"

"Well, I've been with Sterling for about seven years and Amber's been with him almost as long." Jet gave the young blond a wry smile. "You see, Sterling found me on the street and took me in. Along with a new home, he also gave me a new name. Not that I can remember my old one. He said that it would be best to start a new life with a new identity, so I became Jet Black."

"And I was born Amber," the golden-haired beauty smiled at the two assassins. "But Sterling gave me a new last name. Thus, Amber Whatevermylastnameusedtobe became Amber Waves."

Jet turned on the built-in CD player and the soft sound of a guitar drifted out. The minor cords of the song brought tears to Omi's eyes, the youngest member of Weiss also being the most sensitive. He couldn't understand the words; they weren't in either of the two languages he spoke fluently.

"Ah geez!" Jet exclaimed, pushing the button to eject the disc. "'Rune's been using the player to listen to that disc he burned. Gods! It would be a lot better if we could at least understand what the hell he was saying."

"What language is that?" Omi asked.

"Gaelic I think or Celtic. But to be sure, you'd have to ask 'Rune and while you're at it, ask him what the hell it means," the black-haired boy grumbled putting a different CD in the player. The drum line of "Ballroom Blitz" rang out from the speakers scattered about the room. With a sensuous rock of his hips, Jet began the process of getting food on the grill. Amber joined him, their lower bodies grinding together in a parody of a more primitive act that caused Omi's pants to become much too tight.

The young killer squirmed, trying to hide his very obvious arousal from the collective group. The look on Ken's face told him that his friend, partner and sometime lover was as disturbed by the blatant show of sexuality as he was. Somehow that made him feel much better.

"Why don't you two get a room?" Ken muttered, trying to find a safe place to put his eyes.

"'Cause we've got to get supper on the table. But maybe after we eat, the four of us can get to know each other a lot better?" Jet grinned at him and raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated lewd way. "I mean, two's company, three's a crowd and four's an orgy!"

"I . . . um . . . yeah," Ken sputtered, his face turning bright red.

"Jet," Amber softly warned. "Guests, remember? And guesting rules."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry."

The four young men worked together, cobbling a meal fit for a king. The American food smelled so different, but still delicious, compared to the Japanese fare that they usually shared. And the amounts were astounding.

"Will you eat all of this?" Omi asked. "I mean there's a ton of food."

"Between the eight of us I'm sure that we can handle all of this. Besides, it's not really all that much food."

A thought occurred to Ken as he watched the carefully choreographed dance in the kitchen. "How did Aerune do that?" he asked.

"How'd he do what?"

"I thought he was blind."

"So?"

"So, he moved between us like he could see." His brows pulled into a scowl. "He didn't shit us on being blind, did he?"

"Nope, 'Rune's as blind as they come. But he has a slight advantage," Jet quipped, a mischievous grin flitting across his face.

"And that would be?" came the exasperated question. "Please stop making this like a trip to the dentist's."

"What my impish friend is trying to say it that Aerune can use our eyes," Amber said, placing a calming hand on Ken's shoulder. "We can all volunteer our sense of sight to him and he's learned to compensate for the difference in either height or angle."

"Not only that, but he's also pretty deadly with a pistol too. With or without the borrowed eyes."

"Really? I'd like to see that," Omi chirped, getting more and more excited about their new partners.

"Maybe one day you will. Now let's concentrate on the important things."

"Like?"

"Like supper!"

% % % % % %

Schuldig followed the kittens as they left the Koneko, hoping that they would lead him to the foursome that he had seen all those days ago. For some reason, the quartet seemed to just vanish; there was no sign of them and four such unique looking young men should stand out like sore thumbs. They had faded into the seamy underbelly of the city and now Crawford was threatening him with dire consequences if he didn't find them. He had resorted to tailing Weiss as a last ditch effort to avoid Oracle's foul temper.

He stood in the shadows of a neighboring house, watching the peaceful yard that the four rival assassins had disappeared into. The faint boom of bass reached his ears and perked his curiosity; soon he would know all the secrets of the mysterious quartet. Riddles tweaked his inquisitive side, making him itch to know all about the strange foursome that had swept into the kittens' lives. A lower, louder rumble caught his attention and the monstrous black and chrome motorcycle he had seen leaving the Koneko roared around the far corner.

The serious one with the shoulder-length, white streaked, dark chocolate hair sat in the driver's seat with the frail, white-haired waif nestled tightly against his back. The flame-haired psychic reached out and tried to grasp the mind of either of the men, his touch sliding off their minds like glass. The pair had shields like he had only heard of, but never encountered. The strength of the defenses scared him and he nearly turned tail and headed back to the safety of the Schwarz stronghold. But the thought of Crawford's face, screwed up in anger, held him to the spot.

He smirked at the pair as they vanished into the green expanse of the backyard. Everyone had a weakness or a period of defenselessness; all he had to do was wait for their protections to be down and then they would see the true power of the Mastermind. With those happy thought, he settled back to wait on the departure of the kittens and the momentary lapse of the newcomers. Soon everyone would come to fear him and he would get that oh so addicting taste of ruined lives and the honey that accompanied them.

_Mustn't forget the bees,_ he thought, snickering to himself at Brad's warning words.


	4. Chapter 4

**PART FOUR**

Sterling took Aerune's hand and led the blind man over to one of the benches that lined the wall. The pair sat down and waited for the two Weiss assassins to join them. Aya motioned Yohji to pick a seat then sat beside him.

"Okay," Aya said. "You sound like you've worked for someone or some group that didn't agree with your morals."

"Something similar," Sterling responded, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping his arm around it. "The group we work for used to be a part of Esstet. And now that we've got our freedom, we're not going back to the way they do things."

"How did you get away from them?" Yohji asked. "I mean it's not like they would just let people like you go."

"Well, the man who is running our program now, took it over by force," Aerune answered, cuddling close to his partner.

"By force? How can you trust someone who took over that way?"

"Very simply," Sterling took up the strand, "Daniel was raised in the program, if you want to call it that. They believe that only the strong survived and if you were strong enough, you could end up running the entire operation. Of course, your loyalty mustn't be called into question."

"Did the government know what was going on?" Yohji asked. "I mean most governments don't want anyone that powerful hiding in the wings."

"Know about us?" Sterling barked a dry sarcastic laugh, "They funded the whole thing during the Cold War. The CIA had jurisdiction over the project, but the director ran it without interference. The man who operated the whole package from the early fifties until Danny took over had been part of the project under the Nazis and carried on a lot of their traditions. The only one that he didn't was the one that allowed the families of gifted children to live. He felt the fewer distractions the kids had, the better things would run." He let that bit of information sink in.

"How do you get away with killing entire families?" Aya asked, sickened at the thought of the senseless slaughter.

"Go in and make it look like drug dealers or junkies tore up the place," Aerune answered, his face somber.

"Besides," Sterling continued, "these things were done in the name of God and Country. Even in small towns, it wasn't too hard to create a bad name for the family in question. Thus was born the Phoenix Project."

"Sounds like something they'd do," Yohji murmured.

"I forgot the four of you do have some exposure to what Esstet is like."

"Yeah, we do. So, why follow this Danny person?"

"Because he's what the project needed; a strong person with good ideas and the smarts to realize that if we do away with the parents and siblings of the Gifted, we're limiting the possibilities. Besides, he's found a way to get the kids without resorting to genocide. I mean, most parents are willing to give their kids to anyone that can help them." Sterling gazed at the eldest members of Weiss.

"Why is that?"

"Most Gifted children are a real pain in the ass. They can move things without touching them or are hearing voices in their heads or get mad and start fires with a thought; and those are just the ones that I can think of off the top of my head. Can you imagine what it's like for a normal parent to deal with an untrained, Gifted person? Some of these kids are half insane by the time that we get them into the program and their parents think that they're possessed. We give them a chance at a normal life. There's even one of the higher 'Powers' that can burn a Gift away if the child won't use it in the right manner or doesn't want it."

"Shit, that's cruel," Yohji said.

"True, but if Brad Crawford had been a part of our project instead of being trained by the European branch of Esstet, then you wouldn't have to worry about Schwarz. They'd be working for you instead of against you." Sterling smiled into Aya's eyes. "Now, Mr. Fujimiya, how about you and I get down to training? Don't worry, Aerune will take care of Mr. Kudou and that way we'll get more done. Divide and conquer and all that rubbish."

"All right. What do we do?"

"This will be an exercise in self-discipline."

"You can forget Yohji understanding it then," Aya retorted.

"Excuse me," Aerune broke in. "And just who was it that slammed me head first into the sliding door of the van?"

"That was different, Omi's life was in danger and you were in the way." A thought occurred to the redhead. "Speaking of that night, what in the hell happened to Omi's wound? We found an almost fatal amount of blood in the seat cushions, but the wound was mostly healed by the time we reached the hospital."

"Exactly, it was Healed," Sterling's articulation of the word stressed its importance. "Rune Healed it with his music. There are certain things that we will be going over in the next few weeks as a part of your training and all will be explained, I promise."

"All right, let's get started." Aya smiled over at his lover, trying to squelch the surge of jealousy that threatened to overcome him. Yohji had been monogamous in the nine months that he'd been sharing Aya's bed, but that didn't always mean anything. The golden-haired man's libido was the stuff of legends and the frail beauty of the man who would be training him might be more than he could resist. The odd pair walked slowly over to the other side of the room, Aerune's hand tucked tightly into Yohji's elbow.

"Don't worry about them," Sterling said, smiling at the slightly shorter man. "'Rune isn't the type to step between partners in a serious relationship."

"Why is that?"

"'Rune's Gift is Bardic," he held up his hands to forestall any questions. "That means that he's a projecting Empath. But along with the projecting form, he also has the receiving kind."

"Which means?"

"This means that he can feel everything that an Ungifted person is feeling. He's also a Telepath and that's why he can use any member of the group's eyes to see through."

"That's how he manages it." Aya and Yohji said at the same time.

"Yes, that's how I do it," Aerune chuckled. "Now, Mr. Kudou, pay attention. We've got a lot of work to do and only so much time to do it." He drew the oaken-haired man's attention and began the slow process of teaching him to understand things that were easily misunderstood.

Schuldig waited and waited for the kittens to make a return appearance. But as darkness slipped over the landscape it seemed that they weren't going to re-emerge from the backside of the oversized house any time soon. His cell phone began vibrating in his pocket, startling him. Thank the gods for that one, if it had rung he might have blasted it and then been sorry for the lack of convenience. That and Brad's panties would get in a twist; the Precog was a skinflint if there ever was one.

"Schuldig," he murmured into the phone.

"Schu, where the hell are you?" Crawford barked across the line, annoyance dripping from every word.

"I've managed to trace the ones that I told you about, Mein Captain," he answered, his pleasure noticeable in every word. "And you could have just asked down the line instead of calling, you know. You'll never guess who showed up dressed in their best welcoming clothes."

"Weiss," Crawford pounced on the statement.

"Ja wold. Give the man a plushie! He got it right on the first guess."

"What would Weiss be doing there?" the dark-haired man mused. "And more importantly, why didn't our man inside Kritiker tell us anything about it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. What are my orders?"

"Give me directions on how to get there and then stay and make sure that the kittens don't leave before we arrive, understood?"

"Heard and understood," Schuldig responded. He quickly and succinctly gave the Schwarz leader the instructions on how to get to the large dwelling in the suburbs. Crawford hung up with a loud click in his ear and the flame-haired man went back to watching the building.

Lights lit the backyard, but very little illumination showed on the front of the house. The façade of wood and concrete fell into semi-shadow as the sky became darker and the streetlights flickered to life. No burglar lighting glowed from the well-tended beds of plants in front of the windows. No automatic safety lights sputtered on as the same time as the streetlights; a sign that whoever lived here rest sure in their power or that they were totally and completely naïve to the types of crimes that could be committed in the gloaming. He stepped back into the darkest part of the shadowed lit up a cigarette. Waiting wasn't something that he relished or was good at.

By the time he finished savoring his fourth cigarette, the clove flavor and scent clinging to his clothes and breath, the rest of Schwarz showed up. Crawford sat alone in the front seat of the BMW, while Nagi perched on the back seat with Farfarello's leash gripped tightly in one small fist. The young telekinetic's serious face glowed luminously in the growing darkness,

" 'Bout time you got here," Schuldig growled, stepping out of the dimness with his signature quickness.

"Schuldig," Crawford responded, not bothering to turn his head. "You know it takes time to cross the city, especially at this time of evening. Now, what's been happening?"

"Nothing so far," the redhead reported, a stream of clove-scented smoke drifting into the car with his words. "The kittens went in and they haven't come out, yet. There's only one entrance that I can see and their vehicle is still sitting right where they left it. There's been no sign of life from this way and the house looks fairly well lighted up." He thought over the events of the last hour or so, trying to remember everything that might be of importance. "I did see two of the four that I told you about enter the premises. That huge mother of a bike belongs to the older, dark-haired man. Other than that and the fact that I still can't read them, nothing has changed."

"So, what we have is four unknowns and the four kittens all snug and tight in there," Crawford thought aloud. "We know that we can take on Weiss with no trouble, but the other four could, and most likely will, be trouble. But if we take them on, going in and attacking without warning, we may be able to nullify their abilities before they come into play." He nodded his head and allowed a rare, sharp smile to cross his face. "That's what we'll do then. Attack now, before they have time to figure out that we're out here. I want at least one of them alive, is that understood? " He shook his head with frustration. "I just wish I could see further than the first few moments of the encounter. Something's blocking my Gift."

"Which direction should we go in?" Nagi softly asked. Brad's eyes went blank, a sure sign the Sight had overtaken his normal vision.

"I see failure if we try to go in the back way. There's something back there we can't fight against. But if we use the front door, it's totally lacking in special protections and we'll be able to circumvent safeguards and sneak in."

"In other words," Nagi said, his eyes glowing with pleasure. "We'll be able to bypass their firewall and hack straight into the mainframe."

Schuldig ruffled the boy's hair. Only their resident computer genius would think of things in that manner. They really had to get the poor child out more; bypassing the firewall indeed. The child lived, breathed and dreamed computers; maybe they should work on capturing someone close to Prodigy's own age for him to play with. The thought of a young, nubile little thing playing house with the sweet-faced boy sitting near him sent an arrow of hunger through the flame-haired man's body.

_:Bring it under control, Schu,: _Brad's voice broke through the haze of lust. _:You're leaking your perversions to all of us. We need to focus on the mission at the moment. I do agree with you, though, we need to find someone near Nagi's age for him to play with. Perhaps we'll be able to grab Bombay or one of the younger ones that you told me about. But for now, keep your mind on the operation and out of the gutter. There's no room for error here:_

_:Yes, oh great one! I'll be a good boy and start paying attention to what we're doing. Or at least I'll do it for the moment.: _He flashed the grim countenanced man a thousand watt, sardonic smile. "Nagsters?" he said, taking the initiative and starting to direct the little excursion.

"Yes, Schuldig?"

"Why don't you try your Gift and see if you can open the door before we get there, okay?"

The serious child looked at Crawford, wanting the leader's approval before starting anything. "Crawford?" he asked, his voice quivering with indecision.

"Do it," the spectacled man ordered. "Good thinking, Schu. It's nice to know that your brains don't always reside in your balls."

"Bite me, Crawford," he growled. Sometimes their fearless leader could be a real jackass and he pushed the temperamental redhead to the very edges of patience. Granted, there were times that he didn't think much beyond who would be warming his bed, but at least he wasn't fixated on a cherry Popsicle. For some unknown reason, Oracle found one 'Aya' Ran Fujimiya utterly fascinating and would do anything to possess the crimson-haired beauty. Schuldig suppressed a shudder at the thought of the icy, controlled man who led Weiss. He and Crawford made a perfect pair: two anal compulsive assholes. He quickly buried that though and linked the quartet's minds.

Firmly united through the meld created by Mastermind, the four members of Schwarz strolled across the quiet street and to the front door. As they reached their objective, the lock in the heavy, steel, security door clicked open and the portal gaped open slightly. Oracle smiled down at Prodigy; the young boy needed extra praise and petting when he used his Gift. A thrill of pleasure resounded over the bond that connected the four, causing Mastermind to smile slyly at the young one walking next to him. Yes, they definitely needed to get Prodigy a playmate. Thinking of themselves and each other in the names given them by Esstet kept them focused on the 'mission'.

_:Oracle?: _Mastermind spoke privately into his leader's mind,

_:Hm?:_

_:I think that we should work on capturing one of the younger two of this group. You know that young ones can be controlled and if we have supremacy over them then the others may just give up without a fight.:_

_:Point taken. Let's plan on that.: _They crept quietly through the rapidly darkening house, the bluish-white gloaming working in their favor. The sound of American hard rock echoed through the house, masking any unintentional noises they might make. Over the screaming guitars and throbbing bass came the sound of young, male voices.

"Shit! I love this song!" came one, the voice breaking on the higher notes.

"Ah, Jet," Bombay's said, laughter in his voice. "That's what you said about the last few songs."

"Well, it wouldn't be any good to have songs that I didn't wanna hear, right?" The song came to an end and another one started up. Piano, acoustic guitar strains floated out of the speakers, setting up the next song. "OO American Pie! I really love this song!" Young, male laughter filled the house, creating an enjoyable undercurrent to the song blaring out of the bright room.

Oracle stepped into the light-filled, food-scented space and raised his Browning .45. The silenced gun went off with a quiet puff and the under-counter CD player exploded in a shower of sparks and plastic fragments.

"Ah, shit!" Jet exclaimed, "Sterling's gonna be really pissed off when he sees this."

"Jet! Shields!" Amber shouted, throwing up his best defenses around both Ken and himself. The air around the four young men shimmered in the warm light from the overhead illumination and the hands of the two unknown boys glowed with tightly controlled power. A nebulous whisper trickled down the bond between members of Schwarz, a warning that one of the teenagers had used telepathy.

_:Crawford!: _Schuldig lashed out mentally. _:These two are Talented; and I don't mean Siberian and Bombay either!:_

_:As if I couldn't tell.:_ The dark-haired man snapped back. The sight of obvious power rattled him a bit. These two had Gifts that he had heard of, but never seen and the counters were beyond his knowing. Esstet hadn't prepared him for a run in with "True" magic.

The back door flew open and the man that Schuldig described as the leader of the group stalked in, his face set and power oozing from him like honey. A few quick, sharp words were spoken and the Gifts that Schwarz used to overpower their opponents faded into nothing.

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" the man spoke, his voice icier than a January wind.

"We thought we'd come and welcome you to Tokyo," Schuldig drawled sarcastically.

"Really?" he answered back, turning his attention to the redhead. "I don't think we need Esstet's form of welcome here. The four of you can let yourselves back out the way you came in."

"I don't believe that's going to happen anytime soon," Crawford said, pointing his weapon at the man. "We have orders to find out what you're doing here and to prevent the Kittens from learning anything that will be beneficial to them. And if you don't know it, Esstet can be a very bed enemy."

"And what are we?" the dark-haired boy asked. "Chopped liver?"

The smaller man that entered the house with the leader began to sing, his song not focused on Crawford, Schuldig or Naoe. The words were filled with a longing that couldn't be explained and seemed to carry the coolness of the Atlantic Ocean or Irish Sea. The lonely cries of a solitary seabird came out in the very words. Crawford didn't understand the language, but recognized it…Gaelic.

Farfarello responded to the music with a flood of tears. Without saying anything to his associates, he whirled and rushed out of the building.

"I think you'd better go after him," the silver-haired man said, his song coming to an abrupt end. "I don't think your bosses would appreciate having to hide another one of his killing sprees, do you?"

"Damn!" Crawford swore and motioned for the other two to follow the Irish man out. "Don't think this is the end. We'll be back when you least expect it."

"I'm sure you will," the leader responded. "And you can bet that you won't find us to be such easy targets again." He turned his attention to the ruined CD player. "I'll send you the bill for a new CD player. And I'll expect you to reimburse me for it. If you're going to play, you'll have pay."

"If you insist. Just one question before I leave," Crawford said

"Yes?"

"I'd like to know the name of the man that bested me."

"You can call me Sterling. The Bard is Aerune and the twins are Jet and Amber. If you think you can gain control over us with our names, think again. We never use our real names and you'll find that not even your hacker can fight his way through the wards put up on the computers protecting that information."

Crawford snarled at Sterling, raising his gun. A rapid-fire set of words from the amber-haired youngman had his gun glowing red-hot and it fell from scorched fingers. One of younger ones held his right hand up, the last two fingers folded under and a few lingering tongues of flame flickered around his upright fingers and thumb. Crawford escaped through the open front door, nursing second-degree burns on his right hand.

"Well, that was interesting," Aerune dryly said.


End file.
